she'll dull need
to the minutes spent
in closeted confines
and evenings lost
underneath forest flames
with thieving eyes
that peel the lacquer
for the rough beneath
only to ride the tides
of an evening moon
and leave with the approach of rain

lessen the ache my dear
and bear a smile
with condescending incalescence
such that i would give nights
and mornings to the suns's peak
with the salted taste upon a dry tongue
that breathe words
like marauding pirates
to adress the misfortune
of being in love
with those lips

You crash on me

In the middle of our worlds

Your heart’s on display

All throughout your eyes

You’ll scar me blue

Before the end of the night

But at least I’ll have your words

And that smile for awhile

you sit on your bed of sighs
built of memoirs and diary pages,
paying saturn homage
on far reaching gazes
that tie horizons
for the long winding roads
that you take without thought
in moonstricken hours
of the lovers eve

"in utmost need,
i advocate silence
to which my thoughts
are my words
and the quiet
my voice"
you said without hesitation
and then you sighed and lay still
knowing full well you desired neither
but found no other words
to explain the silence
that burned deeper
than the needle burrowed
between the folds of your skin

and like heroine the pain is addictive
a lesser evil to blunt
the heady depths that bind you
to surface and below.
come sit with me
heroine
show me the twin paradox that you are
calling yourself blessed
to be cursed
with the gift of thought and unshielded reason
that intellect only heightens
and the world cannot understand
come sit and pray
i may discern
you and your bed of sighs,
just for a moment more
than the last time
we kissed.

untitled

the sweet

Stars are passive observers
to sleepless nights
where sighs are my closest companions
and the warmth of her breath leaves me
for want of sinew and flesh
and draped words that tell
of chariots and kings
that my lips will not satisfy
for lack of a better reason
than consequential logic.

Rosary beads,strewn like selfless martyrs
across aged wood
are faithful listeners to the cacophony of my thoughts,
a court of silent persons
that hold no threat of bearing my sins
to public eye and ear.

The vodka speaks to me
against the flicker of candlelight
its lips moving across the still glass
the dance of the flame against the wind
taunting this old boy's better half
to give up morality and ethics
and ability to discern either
for the sweet bitterness of its kiss,
asking like no other can,
to take and not ask.

I am unduly guilty;
as i lose more than just bodily function
to the liquid sapphire that courses my veins,
of lust and love alike,
and like the fellow man
I am too stubborn to admit
that she is both want and need,
and like the fellow man
there is little i would not give
for her to take consequential logic
and damn it to hell
for lack of a better reason
than for her desire to take
and not ask.